


i was dead when i woke up this morning

by shockvaluecola



Category: Fable (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Corruption, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, father/son relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shockvaluecola/pseuds/shockvaluecola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rose, the Hero of Brightwall, pardons her brother for his crimes, she sees that he's still useless to the kingdom. Until he gets some healing from the one man who might know how.</p><p>Contains blink-and-you-miss-it Reaver/Logan. Mostly about a mentor/mentee or healer/patient relationship between Logan and Garth. Title is from Florence and the Machine's Seven Devils.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was dead when i woke up this morning

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, this was supposed to start with Logan sitting in Samarkand and end with him still sitting in Samarkand. But it got away from me something fierce. Also, Logan feels are the almost worst. I left my dignity in the Denny's this thing was written in, which is to say I cried because _Logan precious baby I just can't deal with myself_.
> 
> Sometimes I just have a lot of feelings.
> 
> Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine (and I welcome having them pointed out!)

When Logan was young, he called the other Heroes auntie and uncle. Except for Reaver, who was never around long enough for either of the children to form any real attachment. (Perhaps he wouldn't have been so damned attractive when Logan became a man, if he had.) So Hammer was Auntie Hammer, and Garth was Uncle Garth. That was how Rose still referred to both of them, but as Logan had grown, he'd realized that the Hero of Will was uncomfortable with such an easy title, and begun calling him just Garth. He thought the man was happier with it -- it was hard to tell with a man like that.

Not unlike Logan himself, really.

"Now is not the time for revenge. We need your help, Logan."

Logan hadn't expected the wave of relief that overtook him. Despite the Crawler haunting his every thought, despite his descent toward madness, despite the mental and emotional _wreck_ he'd become, he didn't want to die. He supposed that was a good sign. 

It turned out that the second part was just to look good in front of the court, because that night, Rose came to his room and glanced around. "Good. You haven't unpacked. That will make it easier."

Logan's heart fell a little, but he never showed it on his face. "You're banishing me, then?" _No less than you deserve,_ hissed the Crawler's voice, _for being a failure. Your mother would be so ashamed. If only you'd been a Hero, like your baby sister. How does it feel to be shown up by a person you had to teach how to walk?_

Rose seemed to know what was happening, because her voice cut across. "I'm not banishing you. If you say you won't go and want to stay here, I won't throw you out. Although I'm not giving you your old room back," she added, with a hint of mischief and a smile. But she grew serious again quickly, and he marveled at how she'd matured in only a few weeks. "But you need help. You're a wreck, Logan. I'm afraid that if I keep you here, we'll lose you before the Crawler ever gets here. You're my big brother," she said, sitting down on the bed next to him. "Even after all that's happened, I still love you. And since I'm the Hero here, I get to look out for you this time."

Logan might have been staring at the floor, except that 'staring' implied any kind of concerted effort to it. He was just...looking listlessly. He noticed, though, that she said 'get to' look out for him. Like looking out for him was a privilege, as if she might lose it if she did it wrong and therefore was motivated to do a good job in looking out for him. It had been a long time since that had been anyone's job but his own. Maybe there was comfort in that.

There was a pause, and it only occurred to him that maybe he was supposed to say something when Rose was rising and speaking again.

"I'm sending you to Samarkand," she said. "To stay with Uncle Garth. If there's anyone who can help you, it's him. Mostly, I think you need to be far away from where the Crawler can get you. If you feel up to it and want to come back to help us fight when it comes, you can. If you stay in Samarkand forever, that's okay too. For now, I just need your soldiers, and the best thing you can do for me is to let me know that you're safe." She crouched in front of him, putting herself in his line of sight, and grasped Logan's hand.

A line of tension formed in Logan's shoulders, and he was staring now, eyes a little wide. Her hand was tight on his, grip firm, and all Logan could think of was a nightmare he'd had every so often, over the last four years. He and Rose would be playing pat-a-cake, and then she'd grab his hands and squeeze and squeeze until the bones were crushed and he bled through his skin and then she'd laugh and it would be the Crawler's voice coming out of her throat and...

Rose saw him slipping and gently took her hand back, letting go. Watching her brother's eyes growing wide and wet made a lump rise in her own throat. She'd faced off with the Crawler and she wasn't this...this wrecked, but then, she'd had Walter with her. All of Logan's men had died. She was a Hero, maybe the power of Will gave her some resistance. She hadn't been corrupted by it, she was almost certain, and she became less sure of that for Logan every moment. And she hadn't been scrabbling desperately to prepare for the last four years, all to protect an increasingly hostile public. She was aware enough to know that she didn't have any real concept of what the next year was going to be like.

"I'll leave you now," she said, voice soft as if soothing a wild animal. "Like I said, I won't make you go. But the boat to Samarkand tomorrow at noon has space for you on it, and for anything you'd like to take. Walter's drafting a letter now to command those soldiers loyal to you that they should serve me, if you'd like to sign it in the morning. I love you, Logan."

And with that, she left, leaving Logan alone to struggle against the bile rising in his throat. 

 

Samarkand was _different_ , but not unpleasant. Logan had been surprised to find, when it occurred to him to wonder, that Garth was even still alive. He'd been middle-aged when the old queen had been a child, after all, and even she would have been in her eighties by now. He looked his age, at least, old and bent with milky eyes and sagging, soft skin. But he was still alive. 

"Garth," Logan had greeted, sketching a bow when he stepped onto the dock in Fairwinds, the southern sea town. "Thank you for having me."

"Logan," he'd said, nodding and leaning heavily on his walking stick. The deep, sure voice from such a frail body was a startling contrast. "The pleasure is mine. Not every day one has the chance to host a deposed king." There was a question in the set to his eyebrows, the glint in the eye that still had sight, but Logan just smiled tightly and didn't elaborate. There would be time, after all.

The place was warm, always warm, and humid. Albion was wet, but cold, and Aurora was hot, but dry, giving him no chance to be confused about where he was. Even when he woke in the night confused and terrified, it would take him only a second to register the heavy air and remember. 

And he did wake in the night, frequently. In Albion, when he'd had nightmares, he would either sleep through them or lay frozen in his bed until dawn came. But servants had been ubiquitous in the castle, and it seemed that without a king's pride and composure to maintain, his nightmares were unbound. Now they would send him hurtling from his bed, bending over a chamberpot to throw up. Once he'd looked up, exhausted and drawn and cheeks streaked with tears, to see Garth standing in the doorway, bent over his walking stick in only a pair of sleeping pants, squinting at Logan. He'd just turned his face back down into the chamberpot and wept.

After that, every time Logan woke, Garth would come tottering in with a cup of hot tea soon after Logan was finished, with a servant following to empty the pot. 

Garth never made him speak if he didn't want to, though they discovered that there were a great many topics they enjoyed conversing on. Garth was fascinated with Logan's experience ruling a country, and with some of the places Logan had led his expeditions to in the past. Logan hung on Garth's words when he spoke of the Old Kingdom, or the Spire, or Logan's mother. But he was there with tea and warmth and a silent presence when Logan felt like he was drowning, and every so often he would call Logan into his study and pass fingers over his forehead, his hands, his feet, his chest, murmuring and fingers glowing blue. 

The nightmares grew less frequent and less intense. Logan began to gain weight, his grayish skin began to look pink. When he drank, it was to enjoy a drink, not to drown out the voices. He was still fragile, having to absent himself from crowded rooms or cold places, lest he slip into a panic attack. And he would have moments of irrationality and explosive anger. But these too became further apart and less intense, and they left him quicker.

Slowly, Logan began to believe that he might one day live without the Crawler hissing in his ear.

When he'd been there four months, he received a letter, dated nearly a month previous. Summer was drawing to an end and the seas were growing rough.

> Dear Brother,  
>    
>  HOW ON EARTH DO YOU DEAL WITH REAVER? Honestly, he is the smarmiest and most insufferable slimehead I have ever met! Do you know what he said to me today? He said...

It carried on in such fashion, making Logan smile. He could practically hear his sister's voice as he read, and it was good to be reminded of her. It comforted him to know that he hadn't just been banished and forgotten, that his baby sister was doing well as queen (industrious and amoral pests aside) and that she still loved him.

He looked up when he was finished and jumped to see Garth standing there.

"Apologies," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right," Logan said, swallowing hard and struggling to keep a lid on his fear. Garth had taught him to breathe deeply, and it helped. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm not surprised." Garth put both hands on the top of his walking stick and leaned forward slightly, watching Logan. "It was good to hear you laughing. The best kings laugh often and well."

"I'm not a king anymore," Logan said. "I never will be. The people don't trust me and I don't want the weight of it."

"You may not rule a country," the man said, "but whether or not you are still a king is up to you." With that, he left Logan alone to write Rose a reply.

> My Beloved Sister,  
>    
>  You're on your own with Reaver. My solution was to let him do what he wanted. Not a course I recommend.

When she wrote him back, it was with pages and pages of castle gossip and updates on the war preparations. They were struggling, but Rose seemed to believe they might really have a shot at it. She'd broken some promises and kept others, paying for those out of the wealth she'd somehow acquired traveling, and through donations from her friends. She had a gift Logan lacked; she could ask instead of taking and have her request granted because someone liked her.

When he wrote back, he asked if she'd tried to tell the people about the Crawler.

_No_ , she answered. _I mean, some people I knew before, I've told that something is coming, and you know how people talk, but not specifically what it is. You were right, though, Walter said so too. No one could understand that thing without living through it._ She'd crossed something out there, and then written: _I'm going to write something on a separate page about what happened in Aurora, and you can read it or not. I won't be angry if you don't feel up to it._

He hesitated, looking at the folded up paper, and discussed it with Garth first.

"I don't..." Logan hesitated, staring at the paper and trying to still seem dignified, to behave as if he was still a king. "I want to share her experience, but it's taken me a long time to stop feeling as though it was haunting me, all the time." He looked up at Garth. "What if reading about what...about it, brings that feeling back?"

"I think it would be good for you," Garth said. "Hiding from a fear forever is no way to conquer it. But ultimately, you must make the choice that you think is right for yourself. If you decide for me, or your sister, or for your fear, you will regret it."

In the end, Logan read it.

_I had to leave Walter behind near Shadelight, did I tell you that? He was so weak after the Crawler had its filthy claws on him, he couldn't...anyway. He couldn't see and he didn't get very far before he just collapsed, so I had to leave him and try to run for help myself. But I passed under a shadow and then it had me, the Crawler. It must have been the shadow, mustn't it? It could never come out into the light. It taunted me with Walter, with Mother, with the throne and my guilt over some of the things I had to do. Everything was dark, all I could see was flashes of light and shadows like the Children. I must have looked mad, because I could just barely make out the sand dunes well enough to not run into them. I got up the steps outside Aurora, if you've seen them, and I couldn't go any further. Everything was going black and I could just hear the Crawler screaming, not with my ears but inside my head, "ARE YOU BLIND? ARE YOU BLIND YET?"_

_Our people have good in them, I know they do, but they could never understand something like that, I'd just sound mad. I understand why you never told anyone, now. Without any of your men to back you up, they'd just have locked you up in the asylum and put me on the throne, and no one would have known what was coming. We all would have died. So you did the right thing, not telling anyone, even though I wish so, so much that you could have._

When there was a month left to go, Logan packed his boxes and strapped a sword belt around his waist. He wasn't the same as he'd once been -- he'd never be a young man again, that was for certain. But when he had nightmares, he simply lay awake for a few minutes before falling back to sleep, and when he doubted himself, the voice sounded like his own, not the Crawler's. The day after he'd read the letter from his sister, Garth had passed fingers over him, and suddenly the light had turned black. Logan hadn't known that light could be black, but so it was, black and malevolent and disgusting. But when he was done, Logan felt better. For the first time since Garth had begun his experiments, Logan felt a little better.

"I dearly hope we will meet again one day," Logan said, bowing to Garth in his Samarkandian armor. The garments he'd brought from Albion didn't fit anymore, he'd filled out to such a degree. It was a good feeling, to be so much stronger now. "My time here was most illuminating."

"For me as well, my friend," Garth said, clasping Logan's hand with one of his own, stronger than Logan would have expected a year ago. "For me as well."


End file.
